


Project Reset-verse Snippets

by playswithworms



Series: Project Reset [4]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hatchlings, Mech Preg, Mpreg, Other, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playswithworms/pseuds/playswithworms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bits of writing and notes in Project Reset-verse, including deleted and extra scenes, backstory, and whatever else I think up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Field Guide to Project Reset-verse Hatchlings

Since there's a lot of hatchlings in Project Reset-verse (fifty-six total, I believe, and then they have hatchling names and chosen names, most of them) and even I start to lose track, here's a field guide! 

**Basic headspace hatchling biology:**

Hatchlings are spawned in clutches of prime numbers, with one Prime spark per clutch (except for when weird things happen). The older and more powerful the Prime, the more hatchlings that can be spawned.

Go through seven molt cycles and instars before reaching adult frames. Each instar takes progressively longer to cycle through, and for Primes it's even longer. The exact times between each instar can vary depending on nourishment and other factors. Severe trauma or injury can trigger a molt to occur early, which often repairs the damages but can have repercussions after emerging like short outs and a prolonged molt recovery time.

Timing:  
Spark kindling - occurs approx. four months from solar radiation absorption by the Prime (or right away, if it's the Allspark)  
Spark incubation - two years  
Pod incubation - three years  
1st instar - approx. 6 years  
2nd instar - approx. 24 years  
3rd instar - approx. 70 years  
4th instar - approx. 150 years  
5th instar - approx. 2800 years  
6th instar - approx. 4700 years (or 15000+ years for Primes, normally)  
7th instar - adulthood, final frame

1st instar hatchlings able to drag themselves or crawl, climb and cling to adult mechs, squeak, beep, and chirrup, mimic simple sounds. All look about the same size and frame type, but there are subtle differences.

2nd instar hatchlings have simple language processing abilities, able to walk although unsteady and awkward, better at clinging, climbing and leaping like monkeys, very malleable frames - able to mimic shapes and colors as protective camouflage/trying out many different forms before deciding what they want to be.

By 3rd & 4th instar hatchlings are pretty much able to function as adults on a processor level, although their frame and spark development is still underway and of course they're always gaining experience and wisdom. Still very chameleon-like, but beginning to specialize into what they will be as adults (some, like cassette-bots, actually start becoming smaller rather than larger at this stage).

5th and 6th instar develop the ability to scan alt modes into full, specialized transformation. 

Seventh instar - spark and frame reach full strength and capabilities. 

 

Hatchling Protectobots and their long-lost siblings (sniff)  
Momdad = Optimus Prime  
1\. Hot Spot - who stays Hot Spot  
2\. Happy Claws - First Aid (Prime spark)  
3\. Wisehelm - Streetwise  
4\. Tangent - Groove  
5\. Snugglebits - Blades  
6\. Bridger  
7\. Sparkles  
8\. Cookie  
9\. Caliber  
10\. Isotope  
11\. Zap

Barricade's Horde \- spoilers for who some of them grow up to be (several I still haven't figured out yet. Fulcrum & Gasket were written before and have no direct relation to their canon counterparts).  
Momdad = The Fallen, contributions from Starscream and possibly others? Seventy-one hatchlings total in the clutch, only fourteen survived to be later adopted by Barricade.  
1\. Fulcrum - Ultra Magnus (Prime spark)  
2\. Birdy Boo  
3\. Squiggles  
4\. Noggin - Fireflight  
5\. Barricade, Jr. aka Little Cade - Slingshot  
6\. Bravespark - Silverbolt  
7\. Trajectory - Skydive  
8\. Escape Velocity - Air Raid  
9\. Toolkit  
10\. Leeway  
11\. Pingback  
12\. Ducky - Seaspray  
13\. Gasket - Hot Rod (sleeper Prime spark, who throws of the "one Prime per batch" theory)  
14\. Starshine - Cosmos

 

Allspark-reincarnated Hatchlings:  
Momdad = Galvatron & the Allspark  
1\. Starscream  
2\. Skywarp  
3\. Bonecrusher  
4\. Laserbeak  
5\. Ravage  
6\. Soundwave  
7\. Brawl  
8\. Blackout  
9\. Scorponok  
10\. Sideways  
11\. Ratbat  
12\. Buzzsaw  
13\. Rumble  
14\. Wheeljack  
15\. Mirage  
16\. Jazz  
17\. Ironhide  
18\. Jolt  
19\. Elita  
20\. Chromia  
21\. Arcee  
22\. Mudflap  
23\. Skids  
24\. Knock Out  
25\. Beachbreak  
26\. Camshaft  
27\. Signal Flare  
28\. Breakaway  
29\. Evac  
30\. Clocker  
31\. Jetfire

Disclaimer: if any of this doesn't match up with stuff I already wrote or said, it's because of mini black holes sucking up bits of headcanon and replacing them with headcanon from my alternate self in another universe. Yep. :D


	2. Project Reset - the Prequel bonus scene: Escape Velocity and Barricade Jr.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First written August 2011.

"Whoa, hang on there, little bit!" First Aid chuckled and unfolded several more supporting digits as the previously lethargic hatchling in his left hand suddenly came to life, wriggling so enthusiastically at the taste of the medical grade energon that he threatened to slide out of his grasp completely. "We'll have to call you Escape Velocity, how about that?" 

"And what about you?" The hatchling in First Aid's right hand, in contrast, regarded the medic with his optics narrowed in suspicion, ignoring the nozzle First Aid held invitingly in front of his mouthplates. "It's not poisoned, I promise. Mooo?" 

The newly named Escape Velocity stopped guzzling energon long enough to buzz-giggle and moo back, but the other hatchling remained silent, the suspicious expression if anything growing deeper. One of the smarter ones of the bunch, Barricade thought. He'd noticed that early on. 

First Aid's optics crinkled in amusement as he looked at Barricade. "This one takes after you, I see." Barricade twitched a corner of his mouthplate briefly in acknowledgement, not...entirely displeased by the comparison. First Aid lifted the nozzle back to the hatchling's mouth components. "Now come on then, Barricade, Jr.," First Aid continued (Barricade twitched with his whole frame this time), “don’t knock it until you try it, as the humans say.”


	3. Project Reset - The Prequel bonus scene:  Nightdancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up cutting the kittens from the rewrite, just because keeping track of 14 hatchlings, 5 Protectobots (adult and hatchling names), cows and Barricade and assorted other characters was more than enough. Let it be known, however, that Barricade's a total softy for the kittehs as well. Originally written November 2011.

“Nightdancer?”

Slag. Slag it all to Pit and there was no escaping the greased chute he’d just constructed to its fiery depths. 

“The female. These are her offspring. She’s over by the wall.”

“Ah, I see.” First Aid scanned, easily picking up the small organic life sign. “Nightdancer. It suits her, how lovely. You named her?” You named the cats but not the hatchlings, First Aid was not saying. He was not saying it so loudly Barricade was surprised the amused twinkle behind First Aid’s visor didn’t cast a gleaming spot on the ground for the kittens to chase. He glared. First Aid’s optics twinkled louder, his mouth very carefully not diverging from its gentle smile. “Do the rest have names?”

“Stalker.” He indicated the kitten curled up next to Squiggles. “Razorclaw, Radar, and…Starscream.” The three cuddled with the hatchlings on his chest. “Wait until you hear him meow,” he said, answering the question before First Aid could ask it.

“First cows, now kittens…Barricade, you continue to surprise me.”

“Yeah, well. It’s been a long two years.”


	4. Response letter from Optimus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sweetly polite decline letter from Optimus Prime in response to all the humans offering to have his babies, based on this scene from Project Reset - The Prequel Chapter 4: 
> 
> _“Keep in mind, Barricade, I also know humans that would give their lives to protect innocent offspring no matter the species, even ours, the aliens that have brought so much destruction to their planet,” Hot Spot said. “Give them a chance.”_  
> 
> _Groove giggled suddenly. “And some that would go even further than that. Optimus gets emails and letters almost every day from humans offering to have his offspring.”_  
> 
> _Barricade straightened, more shocked than he had been by any of the other revelations so far. “Can they do that?” he asked, horrified._

Ma'am,

Thank you for your generous offer. Regretfully, I must decline at present, but I am honored by your enthusiasm and dedication to the advancement of human and Cybertronian relations, not to mention your inventiveness and creativity in describing possible methods (I was particularly impressed by the drawing, and I have taken the liberty of forwarding it to my engineering specialist for further analysis). 

Wishing you all the best,

Optimus Prime


	5. Small Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place shortly after the events in "Project Reset - Chapter 2." Fulcrum and Bravespark are rather precocious, and even though they're still second instar here, they've already chosen their big mech names.

“Air Commander Starscream,” Ultra Magnus said softly, reverently, as he touched the recharging hatchling in Optimus Prime’s hands with a gentle talon.

Thundercracker, who along with Ratchet and First Aid was keeping the more rambunctious of Barricade's Horde corralled and at a safe distance as they said hello to the unhatched pods, looked over at the tiny hatchling and shook his head. “This is never going to not be weird.” 

“You remember?” Optimus asked curiously, his optics brightening as he looked down at the second instar hatchlings clinging to his chestplates and arms.

Silverbolt nodded, also reaching to touch small Starscream.

“We remember.” Starscream stretched contentedly his recharge and then gripped one of Silverbolt’s talons with his own smaller ones.

“He likes me!” Silverbolt clattered his mandibles softly in excitement.

“I’m sure he does,” Optimus said, smiling. “He is lucky to have you as older brothers to watch over him.”

“You can give him ours, if you need to.” Ultra Magnus looked up at Optimus, his red optics serious.

“Give him what?”

“Our energon. He’s little now. He shouldn’t be hungry.”

Optimus ran his thumbplate over Ultra Magnus’s helm, which was currently shaped quite a bit like his own. It had taken many months for Ultra Magnus and his brothers to stop hoarding their rations, to trust that there would be more fuel when that was gone. They remembered all too well what it was like to go without. “You are right, small hatchlings should never be hungry. Nor will they be. We have energon enough for the new ones, and for you all, but I will remember your offer. Thank you, Ultra Magnus.”


	6. Barricade's new motto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place sometime shortly after Project Reset - The Prequel.

It had taken Barricade an embarrassingly long time to notice, although in his defense it wasn’t the easiest thing to read his own leg panel. That explained some of the odd, slightly amused looks he’d gotten over the last few weeks, at least.

“’To tolerate and coexist’? What the frag…”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry, I should have asked, but you were recharging so peacefully when I reset your nanites,” First Aid said, when he’d asked about it. “I figured ‘protect and serve’ might be a bit of a stretch.”


	7. Stubborn Protectobots are stubborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before "Project Reset - The Prequel"

“Blades, can you help me with this? They’re mostly installed, I just need you to secure the final attachments up here where I can’t reach.”

“Aid…” Blades gave his brother a worried frown even as he bent and found the necessary attachments. First Aid had been far too quiet since they had discovered the dead hatchlings on the Nemesis, and now he was installing feeding nozzles? Hot Spot, Groove, and Streetwise found them as Blades finished, watching as First Aid coiled the nozzles and tucked them neatly into his frame.

“So that’s what you’ve been up to,” Hot Spot said mildly. 

“Fourteen are still unaccounted for,” First Aid said, stubbornly not meeting their optics. “I know I’m being…unrealistic, but…if we find them, they won’t be old enough to refuel on their own.”

“We’re going to Earth then?” Streetwise asked. “Optimus…” He didn’t finish. Optimus had said not to come. Sentinel Prime had been found alive and betrayed them, and Optimus had had to kill him, and then Megatron. Jazz and Ironhide, Mirage and, hardest of all to bear, Wheeljack. Deactivated, gone forever. Cybertron, destroyed. It didn’t seem real, any of it. Earth was still reeling from that final battle, the very survival of the planet in jeopardy. Optimus needed them, had to need them, as much as they needed him, and yet he told them not to come, and that hurt more than all of the other things put together.

“We’re not hatchlings, anymore,” Groove said. “Well, mostly not.” 

First Aid raised his optics and Hot Spot nodded. They were going to disobey Optimus. They were going to Earth.


	8. Optimus is in a family way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mpreg - of the vague glowy chest things variety ^^

“Optimus…”  
  
Optimus turned to find Ironhide and Bumblebee looking at him with expressions that wavered somewhere between awe and concern.  
  
“What? What is it?”  
  
“You’re…glowing.”  
  
Optimus blinked and looked down. His armor was, indeed, radiating a faint blue glow that had nothing to do with the reflected lighting of the ship. He ran a hand over his chestplates, realizing now what had been niggling just at the edge of awareness.  
  
“It worked,” he murmured. Deep within him something, many somethings, stirred, reaching tendrils of bright new awareness through his entire frame. The wonder and terror of it floored him, literally.  
  
“Prime!”  
  
Bumblebee and Ironhide braced him as he sat down on the floor rather abruptly.   
  
 _I’m calling Ratchet,_  Bumblebee sent, as he helped prop Optimus against the wall and bent to look worriedly into his optics.  _Optimus?_  
  
“I am well, old friends.” Optimus put a reassuring hand on the yellow scout’s shoulder. “I am well, do not fear, although…Ratchet is probably a good idea.”  
  
Ironhide stood and crossed his arms, frowning down at him. “Prime,” he growled, cannons whirring restlessly. “What have you done to yourself now?”


	9. Megatron and hatchling Orion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one occurs way back before any of the Project Resets, when Megatron, much to his initial dismay, has been assigned to watch over hatchling Orion.

“Vanquished!” Megatron laughed and flopped dramatically on the ground as he allowed Orion to pin him.   
  
“Ha!” Megatron grunted as the hatchling bounced a few times on his chestplates in victory. Oof. Now in his fourth instar, Orion was still thin as a rail, but there was a solid weight to his frame that hadn’t been there before. Megatron was just glad to see him back to his old, irrepressible self after his molt cycle, although that meant, of course, that he got neither peace nor recharge.  
  
“Someday, I’ll be as big as Sentinel Prime, and then you’ll be sorry!” Orion promised, his blue optics twinkling merrily.   
  
Megatron roared in pretended outrage, and rolled them over. Orion yelped and squealed in glee as he was pinned in turn, although Megatron was careful to keep his full weight off the hatchling. “In your high grade hallucinations, scraplet. Nuisance,” he added, flicking Orion lightly on the noseplates for good measure.  
  
Orion buzzed and giggled, but then sobered and grew still, looking up at him. “What?” Megatron frowned back. “What’s on your processor?”  
  
Orion didn’t answer, but Megatron stared him down, knowing from experience that the runt would spill his internals eventually.   
  
“Nothing.” Orion shrugged one shoulder slightly. “Just, they were talking. About how Sentinel favors me too much. That I’d better watch out, because you would…”  
  
“Because I would  _what_ ,” Megatron growled dangerously.   
  
“You won’t ever hate me, will you?” Orion said softly, not meeting his optics. “I’m not anything important. I’d rather not be important if it means you would hate me.”   
  
“Those…give me their names!” Megatron gritted out. “I’ll rip their heads off, one circuit at a time! Listen to me. Orion.” He sat up, hugging the hatchling close, struggling to channel his rage. Orion buried his helm against his chest, holding on tight. “Listen to me. I will  _never_  hate you. Do you hear me? Sentinel made us brothers, and you are a nuisance and a pest and the bane of my existence, and I will give my very spark to keep you safe. You are my little brother, and I will  _never_ hate you, do you understand?”  
  
He lifted Orion up until the hatchling met his optics and gave a shaky nod, and then hugged him close again.  
  
“I promise,” he whispered against the small helm. “I promise.”  
  
“Love you forever,” Orion whispered back. “I promise, too.” 


	10. Barricade's very bad day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurs between the end of "Transformers Dark of the Moon" and "Project Reset - The Prequel"

Barricade staggered as he forced himself out of alt mode, trying not to reopen the tears where his self-repair had finally halted the leaking energon, ignoring the pain and system warnings. He’d gotten this far by simply…not thinking. Not thinking about Soundwave’s deactivated frame being torn apart, not that he’d mourn the slagger overmuch, but still…and then Megatron, torn apart by Optimus Prime with one terrible blow. Himself, being torn apart by a mob of vengeful, screaming humans. Especially not thinking about Cybertron. He hadn’t thought about Cybertron as more than a distant memory, a distant dream for so long…and then, that brief glimpse. So beautiful. He had forgotten. He could forget again. He had to.   
  
Starscream’s transmission was the beacon, the lifeline he gripped with whatever dregs of sanity and strength that remained to him. That it had been Starscream’s last and final transmission, he didn’t think about that part. Only that it must have been important, vital, that Starscream would have sent it, especially to him. Starscream could be counted on to have a plan. A weapon, supplies, an instrument of revenge, a means of escape. Something worth forcing his battered alt mode along forty miles of strut-jarring road to a deserted human fueling station in the middle of nowhere.   
  
The ground shifted suddenly, and Barricade cursed as his damaged legs buckled and sent him crashing painfully to the pavement. He stayed there until the planetary convulsions calmed again. Slaggin’ geologically active dirtball of a planet. At least the earthquakes and sudden eruptions of magma in central Chicago had provided plenty of distraction to make good his escape, but it was still freaky as Pit. Starscream had muttered about Sentinel’s plan to gate Cybertron here, so close to Earth; presumably this was why. Barricade sighed and then groaned as he pulled himself slowly upright again. A shuttle. An escape pod. Surely that’s what Starscream would have hidden here, bless his cowardly, back-stabbing spark, and there would be a stash of energon, and a repair berth, and coordinates to…and here Barricade’s fantasy failed him. Where? Where would he go? Just…somewhere. Else. Not here. That would have to do. There would be no mercy from the Autobots; Optimus Prime had finally learned to be ruthless, it seemed, his speech-making about peace and second chances only so much self-delusional slag, as Megatron had always claimed. Just his luck.   
  
His scanners were glitching unreliably, but there seemed to be a faint, fragmented energy reading echoing around several rusted sheets of metal that were stacked haphazardly near the hollow shell of the fueling station. It took most of his remaining strength to shift them aside, pausing to regather himself between each one. As he grasped the last sheet to lift it he heard small scrabbling, cheeping noises. Some sort of organic creatures nesting? The sight of a multitude of small, red, undeniably Cybertronian optics blinking at him from the dim compartment made him recoil with a startled rush of air through his vents and drop the sheet of metal. He cautiously lifted the edge again, illuminating the contents of the small chamber with his headlights. The contents pulled themselves to the farthest corner and hissed at him, bristling their pitiful bits of armor. They looked like…very small, clumsy versions of Frenzy. Hatchlings. These must be hatchlings.   
  
Starscream had helped the Fallen spawn them a few years ago. The jet's expression had been equal parts haunted and exalted as he'd explained to Barricade where he'd been for so long. Barricade…hadn’t asked for details, and Starscream, thankfully, hadn’t supplied them. They were to be the future of the Decepticons, the salvation and survival of their race if only they could be kept alive, Starscream had said, with a strange, almost pleading light in his optics, as if hoping for Barricade to understand. He’d said many other things, things Barricade had ignored at the time, except to cringe in secret horror at the lengths Starscream was willing to go to keep the helpless, dependent (useless wastes of energon, in Barricade’s private opinion) spawnlings fueled. Barricade scanned the small chamber carefully, while the hatchlings continued to hiss and bristle. Nothing. No sign of weapons, or fuel, or supplies. One of the hatchlings made a different sound, a questioning, hopeful note. Barricade dropped the metal again with a clang and stood.  
  
“Starscream! FRAG YOU!” he shouted at the sky. He spent a few breems searching the rest of the station, but there was nothing, no hope, no future. He threw himself into alt mode and drove, his vision fritzing with static, swerving dizzily with pain and exhaustion. They were probably hungry. Barricade felt his tires hit grass and let himself roll to a stop, half tilted into a ditch as the thought finally caught up to his churning, fevered processor. If they didn’t slowly starve to death first they would be discovered and taken by the humans.  
  
Barricade transformed and let himself sprawl there, in the ditch under the roiling, angry clouds until he found strength to stand, to plod back to the fueling station where the hatchlings were hidden. At the very least he could give them a merciful deactivation. It was more than would be granted to him.


	11. Barricade and Fulcrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fruits of three snow days in a row! Five more snippets! :D Had them all mostly written Tuesday, but with all the playing catch up at work (leaks from melting ice on the roof! frozen pipes and no water at our older buildings! ninety minute commutes over compacted ice-chunk roads! fun times...) it's taken me 'till now to tweak them and get 'em posted. As per usual with snippets, lots of jumping all over the space-time continuum, no warnings for this batch.

“Here now,” Barricade said, as he fished hatchlings out of the collapsed pile of medical supplies. Turn his back on them for a nanoklik and of course they’d gotten all the way into the upper cabinets. “Everyone all right?”   
  
No one seemed dented, but most of them were liberally coated with spatters of purple mineral supplement from a broken tube. Fulcrum, who’d been riding on his back, came around to his forearm with a solemn, concerned expression on his small faceplates, watching as Barricade inspected his gooey, squeaking siblings and shoved the worst of the mess out of the way.   
  
“Ok, bit?” Barricade asked, jiggling his arm a little. Fulcrum was starting to worry him. He was clingy and affectionate, but compared to the rest he seemed unnaturally serious for a second instar hatchling, although that didn’t prevent him from getting into his fair share of scrapes (generally instigated by Gasket and Escape Velocity, who were emerging as the undisputed ringleaders for that sort of thing). Their deprivations during their first instar could not but have left scars, and despite First Aid and Hoist’s reassurances that hatchlings were resilient, Barricade couldn’t escape the twinge of guilt and worry when the hatchlings started hoarding their cubes of energon all over the Retribution, or Leeway trembled and clung to him when he woke from recharge for no apparent reason, or Trajectory spent an entire day single-mindedly arranging a pile of ball bearings to the exclusion of everything else...or when Fulcrum looked like he had the weight of the universe already on his small shoulders. Maybe it was a future-Prime thing. Maybe he should see if Fulcrum could spend more time with Aid or Optimus. Maybe he should spend less time, if he was trying to emulate them before his spark was ready to bear the full weight of a Prime. Not for the first time, Barricade felt out of his depth. He wasn’t doing this alone, he reminded himself firmly.  
  
Fulcrum looked up at him with a severe little frown. “I’m not ‘bit.’”  
  
“Sorry.” Barricade humored him with a short nod of acknowledgement, lieutenant to commander. “Fulcrum.”   
  
Fulcrum shook his helm. “I’m Ultra Magnus.”   
  
“Ultra Magnus?” Barricade lifted the hatchling on his arm to optic level. Fulcrum’s expression was determined, edging into slightly worried as Barricade looked at him, as if awaiting judgement. The Protectobots hadn’t chosen their names until their third instar, and Gasket claimed a new one nearly every day (mostly for the fun of trying to get reactions from the adult mechs, Barricade suspected. His latest purported choice was “Romaine Lettuce” ) but Fulcrum looked like he meant business.  
  
“That is...a mighty name.” And it would have been funny, applied to such a small hatchling, but for Fulcrum...Barricade could envision him growing to fit it.   
  
“Yes,” Fulcrum agreed, nodding seriously.   
  
“Well then. Ultra Magnus. Let’s go get your brothers rinsed off.” The now-named Ultra Magnus hugged Barricade’s forearm tightly, and his mandibles shifted in the tiniest of smiles.   
  
“Don’t need rinsing!” Escape Velocity protested from the vicinity of Barricade’s knee, now also smeared with mineral supplement from the hatchling’s talons.   
  
“Miserable little Pit spawns!” Barricade roared, scooping sticky, gleefully shrieking hatchlings from the floor with his free arm as they scrambled away from him with a conspicuous lack of fear. He tossed them onto his shoulders and stomped towards the washracks. “I’ll wash you down the drains! Ultra Magnus, you’re in charge of the soap!”  
  
“Hooray!” crowed Ultra Magnus, for once sounding like a second instar hatchling.


	12. Humans aren't hatchlings

Optimus realized his mistake as soon as he flung Sam and Mikaela onto his shoulder, and cursed silently, his spark going cold with fear. They were humans, not hatchlings. They weren’t going to be able to hang on to his armor for long; he wasn’t going to be able to catch them when they fell.


	13. Optimus P-bot reunion

Oh he was furious with them, but Optimus could not help the way his spark leapt at the thought of seeing them again, warring with an equal portion of terror. They were supposed to be far from here, away, safe, their hidden hope for the future, untainted by all he had done, by what he had become…  
  
They came towards him now, all five of them, their optics on him, smiling bright and eager and just a little bit guilty. So different from the small hatchlings he remembered! The largest broke ranks and swept him up in an exuberant hug.  
  
“Hot Spot?” Optimus found himself looking into laughing red optics on a level with his own. “ _Little_  Hot Spot?”


	14. Big brother Megatron

Sentinel Prime had a mission for him, a special task he had said. Megatron surveyed the small, bright-opticked creature as Sentinel held it out to him with deep suspicion. This was NOT what he had in mind.  
  
“What is it?” he asked, gingerly attempting to pick it up by one limb with the very tips of two of his own digits. The creature beeped in protest, clinging to Sentinel’s hand.   
  
“Not like that. Here.” Sentinel took his hand and rolled the creature on top of it, so that it was supported from below. It felt warm and rather soft and utterly strange as it clung to his hand. “And  _he_  is a hatchling. Not every mechanism is sparked by the Allspark, you know.”   
  
Megatron continued to regard the hatchling in his hand as if it might transform into a ravening Sharkticon at any moment. “News to me,” he muttered.  
  
Sentinel chuckled and laid a hand on Megatron’s shoulder. “I apologize. I forget sometimes you were not raised in the Youth Sectors. His name is Orion, and he is the only survivor of his clutch. I would look after him myself, but my duties will prevent it much of the time, and he needs a brother, now that his own are gone.”   
  
“A brother?” Megatron scowled, moved to sympathy for the pathetic little creature despite himself. But still… _brother?_  The thing couldn’t even talk, or move much on its own, apparently. What the frag was he supposed to do with it? Carry it around all the time?   
  
Sentinel tilted his helm back and laughed at Megatron’s expression. “Don’t worry, young Megatron. He will grow. In a few thousand vorns he shall be a companion worthy of your spark, if you give him a chance.”  
  
Megatron schooled his face to acceptance, despite his doubts. Sentinel had shown him, a lowly mech from the Pits, great favor. He’d be a fool to waste this chance no matter how strange the task; surely he could humor the Prime for awhile. Looking after a hatchling now and then, how hard could it be? “Of course, Prime. If you say so. He’s...nibbling on me, by the way.”   
  
“Yes, he’ll do that. I’ve just fed him so he’ll not be hungry for awhile. You’ll be able to tell when he is; bring him back to me then. Here,” Sentinel sent him a file. “Instructions. Guard him well, young Megatron, and...good luck.” Megatron swore there was a fiendishly gleeful gleam in Sentinel’s optics as he thumped him lightly again on the shoulder and turned away.  
  
“Brother,” he said, and snorted a laugh, holding up his small burden as it peered back at him with blue optics open wide. “Come on then. Let’s go find you some--” he scanned through the first level of instructions “--gentle auditory and visual stimulation, whatever the slag that is.” He’d defeated countless foes, clawed his way out of the Pits, fought for his place in the complex hierarchy of Sentinel’s guard, and distinguished himself in battle after battle. Compared to that, this mission was going to be piece of energon cake.   
  



	15. Phyllis

Phyllis Anderson had seen many things in her life. This was a new one. At first she’d assumed they were birds - her eyes weren’t as good as they used to be - but they were too big, and anyway birds generally preferred clean water, not the muddy corner of the cow pasture….Monsters, she thought, cold fear running through her veins as she got a clear look for the first time, the glowing red eyes. Aliens. Not human, not any animal born of Earth. She dropped behind a patch of tall weeds near the fence, freezing while her mind raced. Run? Call for help?   
  
After awhile it sunk in - they didn’t actually sound all that horrifying. They even sounded a little like a flock of birds, although the chirps and beeps had an electronic quality to them. Phyllis dared to raise her head again, gripping the fence post for balance. The creatures didn’t notice her, occupied with sliding and rolling over one another in the mud. They dragged their pointed appendages through it, tried to grip squelching handfuls, splashed their arms and legs in the wetter sections. The more she watched the more she was certain. She’d witnessed nearly identical scenes with her own children when they were small, after all, and then the grandbabies when they came to visit. Whatever they were, they were young and helpless and having a glorious time making a glorious mess.   
  
She’d glanced at the pile of rusted metal in the pasture several yards away, but distracted by the creatures in the mud she hadn’t registered it consciously until it moved, creaking and groaning. She flattened herself low again, heedless of her own creaking knees, her heart racing again. She’d seen the news footage; her youngest daughter Sarah’s military husband was mixed up with them somehow. She knew enough to know she was in some seriously deep manure. Phyllis was spry for her years, but not spry enough to outrun a giant alien robot. She mustered her courage and straightened enough to see. She was old, she had lived well and long. She’d be sure to give the alien some trouble before it squashed her at least.  
  
This particular giant robot had seen some better days, from what she could see of it. And the exasperated expression was unmistakable, and very human despite the red eyes (those were the bad ones, the news reports said, the ones to call the authorities immediately if spotted) and shifting metal plates instead of skin. The big robot spoke in its unintelligible language to the small robots; scolding and weary. The tone was easy enough to read, as was the grimace of reluctant disgust as it stepped into the mud and fished filthy small robots from the puddle one by one, hooking them to its chest and shoulders where they clung like burrs. Thirteen of them. The robot looked worried, stepping deeper into the puddle and patting around, finally pulling out a fourteenth small robot that had been completely immersed in mud. The big robot scraped as much of the muck from the little one as possible, very carefully with those dangerous looking hands, Phyllis noted, and the little one squeaked and chirped and wiggled, apparently none the worse for wear.   
  
She watched from her hiding place as the mother robot, for it could be nothing else, stood with a groan and made her way to the pond to dunk the little ones in the cleaner water. The cows came to drink, to be absently patted by the big robot and snuff at the small ones. Everyone seemed well acquainted. Phyllis trailed at a cautious distance as the giant alien robot made her way across the field with her little ones and stepped over the fence, to disappear into the old storage barn. It was hard to see from this distance, but she got the impression the robot was nearly crawling with exhaustion towards the end. She should call the police, or her son-in-law. The ones with the red eyes, the Decepticons, they were ruthless, had tried to take the Earth and enslave its population, the terrible earthquakes and volcanoes that had shaken the Midwest last year were their fault, they were to be destroyed on sight…  
  
No one ever mentioned they might have babies. Phyllis Anderson was no fool - those funny little robot babies might grow up to destroy everything she loved - but she also had a stubborn streak a mile wide and rooted deep. That robot hadn’t caused her any harm, had even patted the cows. She’d watch from a distance for now, and take ‘clean out the old barn’ off the to do list, but there was no way she was turning in a mama with babies taking sanctuary on her land.


	16. Thundercracker is baffled by hatchlings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place shortly after the end of Project Reset: the Prequel

They were all insane, Thundercracker decided. They were weird and unpredictable, and it didn't help that they were also highly breakable and often lacking in common sense. And these were second instar hatchlings. By all accounts first instar hatchlings were the same only even _more_ breakable. He tried and failed to imagine Starscream and Skywarp in hatchling form. Fragile, helpless, and completely irrational beings. It would be another three years local time before he had to face that particular eventuality, maybe by then it would become more comprehensible. In the meantime...he had more than enough to try to comprehend.

"Cake!" said Ducky brightly, digging out a lump of the squishy, organic goo he, Starshine and Pingback had been industriously scooping together, consolidating it from several smaller plastic containers. 'Play Doh', the labels proclaimed. It had started out multicolored, but after several minutes of slicing and squashing between hatchling talons, it was now more of a purple-grey. 

Starshine, concentrating, used one talon to remove a section of the substance and then, holding it next to his small chestplates, used his other three limbs to scale Thundercracker's legs and torso. Thundercracker tried not to wince too obviously. At least this 'Play Doh' was not as sticky as some of the other substances he'd been smeared with since becoming a hatchling caretaker. Thank goodness the Retribution had jet-sized washracks.

"Here," Starshine said, reaching Thundercracker's shoulder and leaning across to hold the purple-grey lump next to Thundercracker's faceplates. "Oil cake." 

"You are mistaken," Thundercracker corrected the hatchling patiently. "Oil cake is made from oil and energon. You are holding a mixture of ground wheat product, salt, and water." 

Starshine's optic ridges drew together with a worried expression and he dabbed the lump against Thundercracker's mouthplates a few times. "Baked it! Hungry?"

Insane. That's all there was to it. Clearly there had been no baking going on; the ambient temperature increase from the local star was neglible at best, but the hatchling seemed determined to insist that this was indeed oil cake and it had been baked according to specifications. 

_Pro tip? When a hatchling offers you oil cake? Eat the oil cake._

Thundercracker looked up to find Barricade watching him in amusement as he helped Squiggles with his energon cube. His expression must have said it all, because Barricade smirked and then mimed chewing on his own hand. Thundercracker narrowed his optics and then refocused them back to the small expectant hatchling on his shoulder and sighed air through his vents. There was no refusing that face. 

"Oil cake, yes, I see now. It looks...delicious." He cautiously opened and closed his dental components as closely as he dared to the unappealing lump. Surely this wouldn't work...but, to his surprise, Starshine squeaked happily and clambered down to assist Ducky and Pingback in adding a few more canisters of Play Doh to their concoction. And adding his "eaten" piece of "oil cake" back into the mixture as well, Thundercracker noted. 

_Hatchlings are...bizarre,_ he informed Barricade. _They make no sense._

 _Just roll with it, TC,_ Barricade sent, grinning. _If they made sense, they wouldn't be hatchlings._ The former science-officer-turned-warrior-turned-hatchling-wrangler was laughing at him, Thundercracker was pretty sure. The fragger. Barricade had had two years to decipher the peculiarities of hatchlings, whereas he'd only had a few days. Thundercracker guessed he could cope, though. Not that he'd admit it in a thousand vorns, but he'd been worried about the devious grounder. It was heartening to see him well and safe; it was no great sacrifice to allow Barricade this small moment of superiority. 

Only a moment, however. If wrangling hatchlings meant entering a delusional state, Thundercracker would master the art. If Barricade could do it, so could he. Thundercracker crouched next to Ducky and Starshine and picked up one of the empty Play Doh containers. With a set of fine manipulator digits, he rapidly pulverized the cup into small pieces of colorful plastic. The two hatchlings buzzed at him curiously. 

"May I assist in the baking?" he asked them, transmitting a glyph of courteous request at the same time. "I believe your oil cake could use some magnesium sprinkles."


	17. Thundercracker's come a long way in four years

"...fifty-four...fifty-five..." Thundercracker squinted one optic slightly open as he counted, keeping an eye on small Jazz as the first instar hatchling crawled industriously across the room. Hide-and-seek with Barricade's second instar hatchlings was quite a challenge. The youngsters were getting very talented at changing form and color to mimic their local surroundings, but at barely one-year-old, the first instar hatchlings of Galvatron's clutch had only recently gotten the hang of the basic concept of hide-and-seek. Their concealment skills were hilariously abysmal, often consisting, as small Skywarp was doing now, of simply hiding their helms under something. If they couldn't see Thundercracker, then apparently, in their still undeveloped processors, he couldn't see them. Except for Jazz, who'd shown signs of his legendary saboteur skills from the day he'd hatched. Tiny as he was, even scanning for his spark signature was unreliable (and also would be totally cheating. Peeking while the hatchlings were hiding was also totally cheating, but the small dent to Thundercracker's honor was better, in his opinion, than having to tell Optimus Prime he'd lost one of his small charges.)

"...ninety-nine... _one hundred_!" Thundercracker unshuttered his optics fully to a chorus of excited squeaking from various points of the room. He'd watched Jazz wedge himself quite cleverly in an empty energon cube, where he was unlikely to relocate without Thundercracker noticing, so he turned his attention first to "discovering" the other four hatchlings, all with various parts in plain view. 

"Where could they be?" Thundercracker asked the room at large, clumping and poking noisily around. Jetfire buzzed with giggles as he brushed the hatchling's foot components with one hand and continued on. Ironhide crawled out from under the table where he had been hiding and latched on to his foot as he walked by, and Thundercracker paused to allow the hatchling to scale his leg. 

"So, you've captured me, have you," he said mock-sternly. Ironhide gave him a grin of his hatchling mandibles and continued to climb. "I think you may need to review the rules of hide-and-seek." Ironhide squeaked in triumph as he reached Thundercracker's chestplates, and Starscream let out an indignant squawk in response and vacated _his_ hiding spot (helm under insulating blanket, aft in the air) in favor of pulling himself as quickly as possible over to Thundercracker and climbing as fast as he could until he was _higher_ than Ironhide. Thundercracker was _his_ , his small glare down at Ironhide said, as clearly as words. Ironhide ignored him in favor of chewing contentedly on the edge of Thundercracker's plating. 

Thundercracker scooped a happily shrieking Jetfire from the top of the couch, and extracted Skywarp from the cleaning cloth over his helm, hooking them both to his chest armor next to the other two. Jazz he saved for last, in acknowledgement of his actual ability to hide. 

"Maybe I should take a break and have some energon, since I can't find Jazz...why what do we have here?!" Jazz squeaked and giggled, small blue optics peering out of the cube as he tilted it gently to slide the hatchling out into his hand. Carefully, as even after a year Jazz's size still made him nervous, Thundercracker held his hand next to his chestplates and nudged the tiny hatchling to join the others, where he promptly climbed over Starscream to ensconce himself on Thundercracker's shoulder, resulting in much protest. 

"Ok, time for a refuel, apparently. Calm down everyone." Thundercracker stroked Starscream along the backplates until he purred, and Jetfire nuzzled in next to him, distracting the cranky hatchling admirably as Starscream chewed happily on the other hatchling's helm, which Jetfire seemed to enjoy. Strange little beings. Thundercracker shook his helm, smiling down at his small charges, struck, as he often was, by the sheer oddity and wonder of it all. He settled himself comfortably on the couch and unhooked his nozzles, starting with Skywarp, since everyone else seemed to be occupied chewing on either his armor or on one another. 

There was an entry request at the door, and Optimus Prime poked his helm in, Bonecrusher, Evac, Chromia, and Signal Flare dozing on his chestplates and shoulders. "Anyone hungry?" he asked. 

"Bzeee!!!" 

Thundercracker laughed as he leaned a little to allow Optimus to collect Jazz from his shoulder, and then Starscream from his chestplates when the other hatchling realized there was an even greater prize than Thundercracker to be had. Thundercracker wasn't _too_ jealous as all of his hatchlings but Skywarp migrated over to Prime (and Skywarp would abandon him as soon as he finished his meal, Thundercracker was quite sure). Besides, if he played his cards right, he could probably persuade Optimus to take the whole crew while he went for a flight and a nice oil bath. 

"Would you like me to watch them for awhile?" Optimus asked, Jetfire, Ironhide, and Starscream plastered blissfully against his chestplates, snuggled in with the other four as Optimus fed Jazz, handling the tiny hatchling with amazing and gentle deftness. 

'Persuade,' who was he kidding, Thundercracker thought to himself with a snort, looking at Prime's hopeful optics. He'd be lucky if he could pry the hatchlings out of Optimus's clutches before their second instar. Good thing for him there were thirty-one of the little menaces to sanity, or he'd be stuck with a set of nozzles and no one to feed.

"That would be great, Prime, thank you."


	18. Barricade's cows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place before Barricade "captures" First Aid in "Project Reset: the Prequel," during his first winter on Earth alone with the hatchlings.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

The cow flattened her ears against her head and made a loud bellowing sound, glaring at Barricade with an expression he had never seen before, but he assumed indicated extreme displeasure.

“Cows don’t like being carried. Gotcha.” Barricade grimaced as he limped a few steps away to reconsider his options. Attempting to lift a fairly solid bovine organic over a fence hadn’t done his battered frame any favors, although at least he’d chosen one of the smaller ones, a youngster from the summer who was at least slightly smaller than her parent. Mom cow was also giving him the stink eye, he noticed, standing close to her offspring.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he told them again. At least they weren’t running away. “It’s just…I really need your help, ok?” The wind swirled gusts of snow against his knee components, making them ache. Temperatures were almost endurable today, compared to the bitter deep freeze they’d been for nearly a week, probably why the cows were out at all as opposed to whatever shelter they went to on the other side of the field. But it was still far too cold for him to leave the hatchlings, and things were getting critical. 

“I’ve got to go find fuel, but I can’t take the hatchlings with me, and I can’t leave them alone either, not in this weather.” Not after what had happened the last time he’d left them to get fuel - he could shut down systems and enter sleep mode to conserve energy, but it seemed that hatchlings did not have the same ability. They’d shut down all right, but then they’d _kept_ shutting down, to the point of near-deactivation. He’d gotten them warmed up again, but they’d been alarmingly listless and reluctant to refuel for days - it was only in the last day or so that they’d recovered some energy and started acting hungry again, but he’d burned through his hard-won fuel supplies just keeping his systems running hot enough to keep them all warm. He had barely enough energon in his lines to keep himself upright, let alone handle another round of feeding. 

“I was hoping you’d help keep them warm, while I was gone.” One furry ear flicked his way, listening. He knew the cows had limited processing power and wouldn’t understand the words in English, let alone Cybertronian, but he’d gotten into the habit of talking to them, and at times it felt like they understood his intent, if not the actual words. At least he wasn’t being bellowed at anymore, which was reassuring. This particular cow he’d watched grow up with breakneck speed from a wide-eyed youngster drinking from her mother’s fuel supply (an arrangement he’d envied, feeling his scarred fuel lines twinge from the most recent hatchling feeding) to this fine example of young cowhood, processing organic vegetation into energy and waste products with single-minded efficiency. She’d followed him and the hatchlings around with fearless curiosity, and the adults had followed suit. He just hoped he hadn’t ruined their trust in him forever. “I know, that was rude of me to just go picking you up like that. I should have explained better. I don’t know. I’m going about this all wrong. Just…wait here a moment, ok? Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” 

She made a snuffing snorting sound, breath steaming in the cold air, and Barricade took that for acknowledgment as he stepped back over the fence and went back to the barn, where he was met by the plaintive beeps of fourteen hungry hatchlings. Their plating had cooled, even in the short time he’d been gone, despite being burrowed close together in their nest of straw, and he felt despair and panic rush through him again. Maybe he should try keeping them all in his alt mode while he foraged? Did the need for fuel outweigh the risk of discovery? It wouldn’t work, he’d never be able to move swiftly or stealthily enough…

Barricade pulled himself back from that line of thought with an effort and quickly snagged up the two strongest hatchlings and held them close to his chest, sheltered as best he could from the wind as he headed back out to the field. The other twelve made worried, protesting squawks and cheeps as he shut the door securely again - hopefully they’d burrow back in and not chill themselves further trying to follow him. The two on his chest clung silently, and he revved his engine hard, burning through the last fumes of his energy reserves as he did his best to warm them while he dismantled a section of the wooden fencing. The cows watched curiously. 

“Here, here you go,” he said, holding out one of the hatchlings. “No more grabbing, I promise. It’s one of your friends. Come and say hi.” The hatchling in his hand let out an excited beep at the sight of the cows, and the cows responded, coming close enough to snuffle with their olfactory openings, first the hatchlings, and then Barricade. He carefully rested his hand on the youngest one’s back and then stroked gently, and she lipped along his hip armor, leaving a cold, slimy trail. 

“I’m glad we’re still friends,” he murmured, and she flicked an ear back in response. “Please. Please, will you come with me?” He backed slowly, and the cows followed, first through the fence, and then through the door of the barn, as peaceful and orderly as if they did it every day. The hatchlings, distracted from their hunger, greeted them with excited beeps and squeaking, and the cows snuffed them and nosed about through the straw, seeming disappointed that there was nothing tastier. One of them lowered herself to the straw with a contented groan, and the hatchlings burrowed in next to her. Barricade added the two from his chestplates.

“No claws, Pit Spawns,” he warned them. “No climbing. Cows don’t have armor.” Several pairs of red optics blinked up at him, but they were too low on energy to get into too much trouble. He hoped. The air in the barn already felt warmer, moist with steam from melting snow and bovine exhalations. Barricade swayed a little on his feet, wanting nothing more than to lay down in the straw with the cows and recharge forever, but time was short, and he didn’t like the dimness to the hatchlings’ optics, especially the one that always seemed a little weaker than the others.

“Thank you,” he said. The youngest cow licked his hand when he held it to her, and leaned in when he rubbed along her chin, by which indication he presumed he was forgiven. “I’ll try to find some…cow food. Some hay or something, while I’m out.” There had been bales of it, he remembered, in one of the other fields, not so long ago. It hadn’t been there the last time he’d driven by, but maybe it was stored somewhere nearby.

“Thank you,” Barricade said again, to them all, feeling his spark waver between hope and despair. He was so tired. He couldn’t keep this up any longer. He went to the door anyway, and braced himself for the cold again. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”


End file.
